Authors: David Mitchell
‘The Basil Brush
Boom-Boom
Road Show.’
‘See?’
‘Their agent is notoriously prickly. You’d think Liberace was in town, not some down-on-his-luck TV actor with his hand up a fox’s bum.’
‘No business like show business.’
A pause.
‘Helena, I know I’ve told you this twenty
thousand
times, but you need challenges bigger than Baked Alaskas. Julia’s flying the nest this year. Why
don’t
you think about going back to work?’
Short pause. ‘One, there’s a recession on and people are firing, not hiring. Two, I’m a morbid housewife. Three, I don’t live near London, I live in darkest Worcestershire, and opportunities are thinner on the ground. Four, I haven’t worked since Jason was born.’
‘So
what
if your maternity leave went on for thirteen years longer than planned?’
Mum did that single laugh people who don’t want to laugh do.
‘Even
Daddy
used to boast about your designs to his golf club cronies. All I ever heard was Helena this, Helena that.’
‘All
I
ever heard was
Alice
this,
Alice
that.’
‘Well, that was Daddy all over, wasn’t it? Come on. Show me where you’re thinking of putting that rockery…’
I flushed the bog and sprayed the air freshener, holding my breath. Alpine Fresh Haze is a sicky smell.
Dad’s Rover 3500 lives in one garage, but Mum usually parks her Datsun Cherry on the drive, so the second garage is spare. The bikes live along one wall. Dad’s tools live in neat racks above his workbench. Potatoes live in a bottomless sack. The spare garage is sheltered, even on blowy days like today. Dad smokes in there, so there’s often a whiff of cigarettes. I even like the oil stains on the concrete floor.
The best thing’s the dart board, mind. Darts is ace. I love the thud as the spike sinks into the board. I love tugging the darts out. When I invited Hugo for a game, he said, ‘Sure.’ But then Nigel said he’d come too. Dad said, ‘Brilliant idea,’ so the three of us were in the garage playing Round-the-Clock. (Aim at 1 till you get a 1, then a 2 till you get a 2, then a 3, and so on. First to 20 wins.)
We threw one dart each to see who’d go first.
Hugo got 18, I got 10, Nigel got 4.
‘So,’ Nigel asked me as his brother got a 1 with his first dart, ‘have you read
The Lord of the Rings
?’
‘No,’ Maggot lied, so Hugo didn’t think I was being pally.
Hugo missed 2 with his next dart, but got it with his third.
Nigel told me, ‘It’s
epic
.’
Hugo got the three darts and passed them to me. ‘Nigel,
nobody
says “epic” any more.’
(I tried to remember if I’d said it since the Lambs came.)
I missed 1 with my first two darts, but got it with my third.
‘Nice throw,’ said Hugo.
‘We had to do
The Hobbit
at school,’ Nigel got the darts, ‘but
The Hobbit
’s basically just a fairy tale.’
‘I tried
The Lord of the Rings
,’ Hugo said, ‘but it’s
laughable
. Everyone’s called
Gondogorn
or
Sarulon
and runs about saying, “These woods’ll be
swarming
with orcs by nightfall.” And as for that Sam, and his “
Oh, Master Frodo, what a bootiful dagger you’ve got
” –
well
! They shouldn’t let that sort of homo-erotic porn
near
children. Maybe that’s the appeal, Nigel?’
Nigel missed the board and his dart bounced off the brick.
Hugo sighed. ‘
Do
be careful, Nigel. You’re blunting Jace’s darts.’
I should’ve said ‘It doesn’t matter’ to Nigel. Maggot didn’t.
Nigel’s second dart hit the outside rim of the board. A miss.
‘Did you know, Jace,’ said Hugo, casually, ‘it’s a scientific fact that homosexuals can’t throw straight?’
To my alarm, I realized Nigel was close to tears.
Hugo has a way of affecting other people’s luck.
Nigel’s third dart hit the rim of the board and pinged off. He snapped. ‘You’re
always
turning people against me!’ Red and furious. ‘I
hate
you, you bloody
bastard
!’
‘Not a nice word, Nigel. Do you know what a bastard is, or are you parroting your playmates in your chess club again?’
‘Yes I do,
actually
!’
‘
Yes
you know what a bastard is? Or
yes
you’re parroting your playmates?’
‘
Yes
I know what a bastard is and
you
’re one!’
‘So if
I
’m a bastard, you’re saying our mother shagged another man to conceive me, right? So you’re accusing her of playing away, are you?’
Tears brimmed in Nigel’s eyes.
This’d bring trouble crashing down, I knew it.
Hugo did an amused tut. ‘Dad won’t be best pleased to hear your accusation either. Look, why don’t you just run along and fiddle with your Rubik’s cube in a quiet corner somewhere? Jason and I will do our best to forget the whole business.’
‘Sorry about Nigel.’ Hugo got 3, a miss and 4. ‘Such a space cadet. He has to learn how to detect hints, and act on them. One day he’ll thank me for my tutelage. Alex the Neandarthal dork is beyond help, I fear.’
I did a sort of laugh, wondering how Hugo makes words like “tutelage” and “alas” sound powerful and not prattish. I threw a miss, then a 2, a 3.
‘Ted Hughes came to our school last term,’ Hugo mentioned.
Now I
knew
he didn’t hold my poetry prize against me. ‘Yeah?’
Hugo threw a 5, a 6, a miss. ‘He signed my copy of
The Hawk in the Rain
.’
‘
The Hawk in the Rain
is brilliant.’ A 4, a miss, a miss.
‘I’m more into the First World War poets, myself.’ Hugo threw a 7, an 8, a miss. ‘Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brooke and that lot.’
‘Yeah.’ I threw a 5, a miss, a 6. ‘I prefer them too, if I’m honest.’
‘But George Orwell’s the man.’ A 9, a miss, a miss. ‘I’ve got everything he ever wrote, including a first-edition
Nineteen Eighty-Four
.’
A miss, a miss, a 7. ‘
Nineteen Eighty-Four
’s just
incredible
.’ (Actually I’d got bogged down in O’Brien’s long essay and never finished it.) ‘And
Animal Farm
.’ (We’d had to read that at school.)
Hugo threw a 10. ‘If you don’t read his journalism,’ a near miss, ‘you can’t say you know Orwell.’ Another near-miss. ‘Damn. I’ll post you this collection of essays,
Inside the Whale
.’
‘Thanks.’ I fluked an 8, a 9, a 10, and acted like it was nothing special.
‘
Brilliant
throwing! Tell you what, Jace, let’s liven things up a bit. Got any money on you?’
I had 50p.
‘Okay, I’ll match that. First to twenty wins fifty pence off the other.’
Half my pocket money was a bit of a risk.
‘Go on, Jace.’ Hugo grinned like he really liked me. ‘Don’t be a Nigel. Tell you what, you can have your turn again, to start. Three free throws.’
Saying yes’d make me more like Hugo. ‘Okay.’
‘Good man. But best not mention it to’ Hugo nodded through the garage wall ‘the maters and the paters, or we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon playing ludo or the Game of Life under strict supervision.’
‘Sure.’ I missed, hit the wall, and missed.
‘Bad luck,’ said Hugo. He missed, got an 11, missed.
‘What’s rowing like, then?’ I got my 11, missed, got 12. ‘All I’ve been on are the pedalos at Malvern Winter Gardens.’
Hugo laughed like I’d made a really funny joke, so I grinned like I had. He missed 12 three times in a row.
‘Hard luck,’ I said.
‘Rowing’s phenomenal. All rushing, muscles, rhythm and speed, but only the odd splash, or grunt, or crewmate’s breathing. Like sex, now I think about it. Annihilating your opponents is fun, too. Like our sports master says, “Boys, it’s not the taking part that matters. It’s the winning that counts!”’
I threw a 13, 14, then 15.
‘My God!’ Hugo made a blowing, impressed face. ‘Not suckering me here, are you, Jace? Tell you what, how about fleecing me for one pound?’ Hugo slipped a sleek wallet from his Levi’s and waved a £1 note at me. ‘The way
you’re
playing today, this smacker’ll be yours in five throws. What does your piggy bank say?’
If I lost I wouldn’t have any money until next Saturday.
‘Oooooo,’ crooled Hugo. ‘Don’t chicken out on us
now
, Jace.’
I heard Hugo talking about me to other Hugos in his rowing club.
My cousin Jason Taylor is
such
a space cadet
. ‘Okay.’
‘
Okay!
’ Hugo slipped the pound note into his top pocket. He then threw a 12, a 13 and a 14. He made a surprised noise. ‘Wonder if my luck might be turning?’
My first dart hit the brick. My second pinged off the metal. My third missed.
Without hesitating, Hugo threw a straight 15, 16 and 17.
Footsteps clopped from the back door to the garage door. Hugo cursed under his breath, and flashed me a look that said,
Leave it to me
.
I couldn’t’ve done anything else.
‘Hugo!’ Aunt Alice stormed into the spare garage. ‘Would you care to tell me why Nigel’s in floods of tears?’
Hugo’s reaction was Oscar-winning. ‘
Tears?
’
‘Yes!’
‘
Tears?
Mum, that boy is
unbelievable
sometimes!’
‘I’m not asking you to
believe
anything! I want you to
explain
!’
‘What’s there
to
explain?’ Hugo did this lost, sorry shrug. ‘Jason invited Nigel and me for a nice game of darts. Nigel kept missing. I gave him a couple of pointers, but he ended up storming off in a tizzy. Spouting foul-mouthed “French”, too. Why’s that boy so com
pet
itive, Mum? Remember how we caught him making up words just to win at Scrabble? Do you think it’s growing pains?’
Aunt Alice turned to me. ‘Jason? What’s your version of events?’
Hugo could sell Nigel to a glue factory and Maggot would still say, ‘It’s just like Hugo said, really, Aunt Alice.’
‘He’s welcome back,’ Hugo assured her, ‘once his tantrum’s blown over. If you don’t mind, Jace? Nigel didn’t
mean
what he called you.’
‘I don’t mind at all.’
‘Here’s another idea.’ Aunt Alice knew she’d been stalemated. ‘Your Aunt Helena’s low on coffee, and your father’ll need a strong mug when he wakes up. I’m volunteering you to go and get some. Jason, perhaps you’d show your non-stick cousin the way, since you’re obviously such allies.’
‘We’ve
almost
finished this game, Mum, so—’
Aunt Alice set her jaw.
Isaac Pye, the landlord of the Black Swan, came into the games room at the back to see what the fuss was about. Hugo stood at the Asteroids console, surrounded by me, Grant Burch, Burch’s servant Philip Phelps, Neal Brose, Ant Little, Oswald Wyre and Darren Croome. None of us could believe it. Hugo’d been on for twenty minutes on the
same
10p. The screen was
full
of floating asteroids and
I
’d’ve died in three seconds flat. But Hugo reads the whole screen at once, not just the one rock that’s most dangerous. He almost never uses his thrusters. He makes every torpedo count. When the zigzagging UFO comes he lays in a salvo of torpedoes only if the asteroid storm isn’t too heavy. Otherwise, he ignores it. He only uses the hyperspace button as a last resort. His face stays calm, like he’s reading a quite interesting book.
‘That’s never three
mill’yun
!’ said Isaac Pye.
‘Almost three an’ a
half
million,’ Grant Burch told him.
When Hugo’s last bonus life
finally
erupted in a shower of stars, the machine did bleepy whoops and announced the All Time Top Score’d been topped. That stays on even if the machine’s switched off. ‘I spent a fiver getting up to two and a half mill’yun the other night,’ grunted Isaac Pye, ‘an’
that
were the bullock’s bollocks, I thought. I’d stand you a pint, lad, but there’s two off-duty coppers in the bar.’
‘That’s good of you,’ Hugo told Isaac Pye, ‘but I daren’t get caught on a drunk-in-charge-of-a-spacecraft rap.’
Isaac Pye did a Wurzel snigger and ambled back to the bar.
Hugo entered his name as JHC.
Grant Burch asked it. ‘What’s that stand for, then?’
‘“Jesus H. Christ”.’
Grant Burch laughed, so everyone else did. God, I felt proud. Neal Brose’d tell Gary Drake how Jason Taylor hung out with Jesus Christ.
Oswald Wyre said, ‘How many years did it take you to get that good?’
‘Years?’ Hugo’s accent’d gone just a
bit
less posh and just a
bit
more London. ‘Mastering an arcade game shouldn’t take that long.’
‘Must’ve taken a pile of dosh, though,’ said Neal Brose. ‘To get that much practice, I mean.’
‘Money’s
never
a problem, not if you’ve got half a brain.’
‘No?’
‘Money? ’Course not. Identify a demand, handle its supply, make your customers grateful, kill off the opposition.’
Neal Brose memorized every word of that.
Grant Burch got out a pack of cigarettes. ‘Smoke, mate?’
If Hugo said ‘No’ he’d damage the impression he’d made.
‘Cheers,’ Hugo peered at the box of Players No. 6, ‘but anything except Lambert & Butler makes my throat feel like shit for
hours
. No offence.’
I memorized every word of that. What a way to get out of smoking.
‘Yeah,’ Grant Burch said, ‘Woodbines do that to me.’
From the bar we heard Isaac Pye repeat, ‘“I daren’t get caught on a drunk-in-charge-of-a-spacecraft rap”!’
Dawn Madden’s mum peered at Hugo from the smoke-fogged bar.